Lose Control
by Vytina
Summary: He always did fancy himself a fine artist. And she would be his masterpiece.


**A/N: This is a little one-shot I came up with a while back, and I've finally finished it! This is a bit of a tangent off my story "An Original Sin"...spoilers ahead, beware!**

**Title: Lose Control**

**Summary: He always did fancy himself a fine artist. And she would be his masterpiece.**

**Pairing: Joker x OC**

**Disclaimer: Song is "Lose Control" by Evanesence**

**Please review!**

Lose Control

A whisper to the back of the neck. The softest echo in her ear. A caress to the face, even when no one is standing in front of her. A shudder from some unnerving feeling, racking up her spine.

_You don't remember my name.  
_

She always knew he was there. He never tried to hide it from her. That wasn't the problem. The problem was she never knew what he was going to _do_. An agent of chaos; an unstoppable force shrouded in cheap fabric and face paint—that's what he was. His motions were unpredictable, and his thoughts unperceivable. There was very little she knew about him, only that he desired her. Even if he had attempted to hide it (which he didn't), she would have been able to feel it. Emotions were child's play to unearth, and in most human beings, it was even less effort to use them to manipulate and eventually destroy.

_I don't really care._

Except with him—the one human who possessed one emotion and only one.

Desire.

_Can we play the game your way?_

The desire to watch the city burn; the desire to feed from the panic and disorder of a world stricken with the fever of chaos and terror; the desire to break the unbreakable, like the Batman. Yes, he wanted to break the Batman…to break all in Gotham who stood for morality, ethics, the code of conduct that upheld order—oh, he hated order—and of course, any who would fight him for the soul of this wretched, hypocrisy ridden city.

_Can I really lose control?_

But why he wanted to break her…that was a mystery she couldn't solve. And she didn't want to solve it.

_Just once in my life,_

Why her?

_I think it'd be nice,_

Because she needed control…she needed to keep control over everything. Even her madness had to be contained. She had professed to be rid of such chains, the burdens of keeping herself in check. She didn't know how to be free. She claimed to walk on the black, never again the white. But she was as white as the Knight himself, Harvey Dent, in all his glory and splendor. She was as white as the Batman, wrapping himself in the protection of his self-righteous ethics and morals. And white…white wasn't a good color on her. It made her look bland…let her fade into society once more…slipping through his fingers like some fine mist, elusive and free.

_Just to lose control, just once,_

She was a flower, and she was still wilting.

Well now, that simply wouldn't do.

_With all the pretty flowers in the dust._

Her insanity was a delicate thing, so fragile and precious, like a fine jewel. It had been given the opportunity to blossom and bloom for years, but no one had ever tended to it. It needed to be nurtured, tended to properly. It had to be fed and watered with the ugly truths that no one ever talked about, out of fear they would destroy the perfection of society's rules. It needed to be removed from the unfertile soil of her past, and replanted in the fresh, wet earth of the present, so it could grow and grow into the boundless sky of her future.

_Mary had a lamb._

He knew what had to be done, and he wasn't even a gardener.

_His eyes black as coals._

But there was the problem of the _**crow**_. Such a waste, really…he'd had this delicacy in his possession all this time, and he'd left her out in the sun too long. Turned her into a melted, wilted mess of confusion and jumbled emotions.

_If we play very quiet, my lamb,_

But now that he was tucked away in a nice padded cell with a nice little straitjacket…

_Mary never has to know._

…she was all his.

_Just once in my life,_

He lived in a world with no rules, with no boundaries. A world without fences or restrictions or confines or discipline. He lived by his own code, his own rules…and the only rule was to have no rules. Everything done at random, no plans or consideration before the fact.

_I think it'd be nice,_

That must be nice.

_Just to lose control, just once._

She wanted it. Every time he looked into those eyes—those deadly, chemical stained eyes—he could see her longing. He felt the heat, the fire from her burning need to have those chains ripped out at the post and flung away. He thought he might drown with her suffocating desire to be let out of that infernal cage of hers.

Poor little flower…left alone in a pot to wilt.

But not for long.

_If I cut you down to a thing I can use,_

He might destroy her in the process. Even better.

_I fear there will be nothing good left of you._

Then he could remake her.

_If I cut you down to a thing I can use,_

He always did fancy himself a fine artist.

_I fear there will be nothing good left of you._

And she would be his masterpiece.

_Nothing good left of you._

* * *


End file.
